The centre piece of this installation is a "fantastical" instrument in the form of a
collection of hand made wooden speaker trumpets - a reference to literary works from the
turn of the Century (19th - 20th) that imagine an industrial future full of technologies
that compose endless sound-scores. Inspired by an article by Douglas Kahn about imaginary
instruments, this piece generates sound collages based on four stories (or four such instruments)
- The Factory Floor, Very Low Frequency (magnetic) Sculpture, Ocean Harp and Volcano Trumpet.

Spark Writing is a form of long distance communication imagined by Velimir Khlebnikov in
1915. He predicted a strange form of electronic writing that would one day connect fishing
communities along the Volga.

A few years ago I read an article by Douglas Kahn about "conceptual instruments"
(Annual InterCommunication '95, ICC, Tokyo). Kahn described the work of a number of
writers from the turn of the last Century (late 1800s to early 1900s). These authors
imagined such musical instruments as volcanoes shaped like flutes and trans-atlantic
cables that acted as giant harps - plucked by the ocean waves during a storm.
Inspired by this, I delved deeper into the works of Russian Futurists and early
Science Fiction writers. Using a similar style to some of the works I had found,
I wrote four texts about different fantastical instruments. This text, cut into a
broken narrative, is interleaved with the sounds of the proposed virtual instruments
to form the basis of a generative sound score.

The piece uses generative audio software that I developed to run on a Macintosh
Powerbook. It generates threads of sound, each involving a different narrative
(one of the four stories). These sound threads are then played on handmade trumpet-like
speakers that hang from the ceiling on mono-filament (fishing line). The speakers are
connected to the computer by braided-copper wires that also float in the air to a certain
degree.

(Peter Courtemanche 2004)

Sound Texts

These visions are about man's predicted mastery over the universe,
realized through massive industrialization. 100 years later,
man is predicting mastery over the universe through a different set of
technologies. The theme and direction of this new technology is eerily
similar to the early idealism of the Industrial age.

Ocean Harp (January 2000)

i can see you staring at me
like the visitors in the hall
watching the ocean rush through my fingers
as i play the ocean harp
the cables stretched from ireland to new foundland
tight steel
plucked by the waters
as the waves move from storm to silence.
i control it with this strange machine
strapped to my body like a mutated
many armed accordian.
it is a contraption of many gears and pulleys
a system of levers that play on the pressure of air
of tubes as wide around as the quarry from which a city is made
of tubes which speak to the weather
which guide the storms and the calm in between.
and i stand here
pressing
pulling
oiled fittings, felt, metal teeth
whining, shifting.
the ocean sings.

(To listen to audio, please us a browser that supports HTML5.)

An audio excerpt from Ocean Harp (4:30).

Volcano Trumpet (January 2000)

the ground shook
a low rumble
that started deep in the pit of the earth
and traveled up through the magma
the bedrock
through my legs
my spine
so that i shook with it.

the vibrations spread and thundered.
beside me a basin of pebbles rolled and shifted
like liquid made of beads.
behind me the world snapped with lightning.

and up in the air
the mountains were on fire
seething and gasping in some strange pentatonic harmony
like a giant balinese instrument
made for the gods.

at the edge of the volcano i could see a man
suspended
in a cage with bars made of rubber.
he was blowing into tubes
long
silver mouth pieces
attached to copper spirals that fed down into the lava.
each tube triggered a different vibration
a short breath led to faint heat
hissing
a deep bugling made the whole world shake
as if the heavens were ready
to collapse in on those of us who stood by
the spectators.

(To listen to audio, please us a browser that supports HTML5.)

An audio excerpt from Volcano Trumpet (4:40).

The Factory Floor (rewrite of Red Star) (February 2000)

the factory floor
open to the heavens
a grid of steps, ladders, walkways
a hundred stories high and wide
roaring in metalic ecstasy

i walked the catwalks
bathed in a fresh even light
the air clean, blue,
a sparkle of ozone along my skin
my nostrils.

there was no smoke, no soot, no oily odors
no dust.
the machines laboured strongly and steadily

giant steel arms
grey polished levers
moved through the air
rotating
lifting
crashing

the great arms rocked and sliced
sawed, planed
and drilled great bars of iron, aluminium, nickel, bronze.

platforms advanced and retreated with elemental precision
wheels and transmission belts turned so smoothly that they appeared immobile to the eye

beneath this mass of churning, machining
lay the soul
the powerful force of electricity that moved the world without need of crude fire and steam.

the roar of the machines, when the ear had become accustomed to it, was melodious
a million metal insects rubbing their legs, rattling, buzzing through the air
and at the heart of it all
the central forge dropped its hammer weighing thousands of tons
and everything shuddered under its thundering blow.

i and hundreds of workmen made our way among the machines
but neither our steps nor our voices could be heard in the sea of sounds.

(To listen to audio, please us a browser that supports HTML5.)

An audio excerpt from The Factory Floor (2:56).

The VLF Sculpture (January 2000)

there was a small group of us
standing knee deep in the snow at the top of a hill
overlooking the foot of the glacier where the ice breaks off
snapping into the arctic sea.

we gathered around an odd contraption
a sculpture
hand-sized pieces of metal alloy and glass tubes filled with solvent
all tuned to resonate at the low frequencies
of the aurora borealis and the flaring of the sun.

i could imagine the sound that this instrument would make in the depths of night
receiving its instructions from the currents of space
when the skies are clear
and the northern lights burn through the heavens
and the sun goes wild passing through an invisible cloud of magnetism and galactic dust.

the tubes would sing
the metal would whine and ever so slightly
rattle
shimmer
the sound of gold filling the air
the air that was colder than ice
crackling.

in the heat of day
the machine was silent
leaving only our imaginations to fill in the silence.